Good Omens: The Rest of Our Lives
by Alias Smith
Summary: Bored, Adam makes a wish. Chaos ensues. Warning May Contain: Adam x Pepper, Crowley x Aziraphale, Aziraphale x rare first editions Please Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hello! This is my first fan fiction- ever! so I need all the feedback (positive or negative, though I certainly want more of the former than the latter). Please note that I am writing this for my own enjoyment, so try not to take it too seriously. Also, while I do own a lovely copy of Good Omens (along with a photo album, several pencils, three small notebooks and any other number of odd and ends which I can stack on top of my homework), I do not, I repeat, do no own the characters, locations, etc. They are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

**Chapter 1:**** In Which the Anti-Christ is Bored and Nothing Much Happens**

The apocalypse had been successfully averted and everything had returned to normal*. The seas had not boiled, the air had not been rent with fire and brimstone, the Kraken had not arisen, Heaven and Hell had not fought the Final Battle, Atlantis had returned to whence it came, and no one had seen any aliens for well over a month now**. Newt had returned to his newspaper clipping***, Shadwell had returned to his grungy apartment, Madame Tracy had her body all to herself again, the Arrangement remained in tact, and the Them continued to terrorize Mr. Ronald P. Tyler with a "blatant and shameful disrespect for their elders which sadly seems to characterize many of today's youth"****. In short, life was extremely dull.

* * *

*Well, as normal as anything can be with an anti-Christ entering into his Awkward Teenage Years, but you can't expect to have everything.

**The Loch Ness monster, on the other hand, had been getting quite a bit of publicity recently.

***Albeit in a different location and in improved company.

****Tadfield _Advertiser_ Editorial, written and submitted by Mr. Tyler

* * *

It looked as though it might actually turn out to be a nice day. After hours of fitful downpours, the sun was finally beginning to show through the thick, grey cloud cover along with faint snatches of pristine blue sky. Below, along a quiet little street in Soho, England, the pavement glistened, wet and slick, in the struggling sunlight as the owner of a small bookshop locked his doors and headed out before any would-be customers could take advantage of the improved weather and, banish the thought, buy something. Besides, he had somewhere to be.

Evil does not have rain delays, cancellations, or anything of the sort. It forges on, and, in the case of the Mayfair District, that evil took the form of a fashionably attired man with dark shades, driving a vintage Bentley. Crowley had spent his morning quietly switching the magazine subscriptions for several prominent Christian magazines* with ones for Playboy. Hastur could waste all the time he wanted trying to tempt some priest** but Crowley liked to think of himself as more of a modern man, er, demon. In any case, he was heading down to St. James Park, a bag of bread keeping him company from the passenger seat. Despite the fact he was traveling at approximately 80 miles per hour through town, Crowley would, no doubt, arrive just in time to be fashionably late***.

As soon as the sun had come out, Adam had set out to collect the Them and explain his latest idea. However, everyone either wasn't home or was busy with their science projects**** so Adam was left to sit dejectedly on the milk crate, in the pit, by himself. It was warm! It was sunny! It was everything a boy could wish for and yet Adam had absolutely nothing to do. He had nowhere to go and no one to talk to and the more Adam sat there, the more he wished that something big would happen, something really big.

* * *

*Do these even exist? I dunno. I wouldn't be on the mailing list.

**Super obligatory book reference, I choose you!

***Angels, of course, don't believe in the concept of "fashionably late". Making someone else wait because you decided to take your time is rude- plain and simple, no matter how "fashionable" it's becoming.

****Adam, true to form, had yet to start his own project but you have a bit more leeway to procrastinate when you're an anti-Christ. Which Adam was.

* * *

Somewhere, far deeper than even Tibetan Monks had traveled, where there was only one time, a note was jotted down on a piece of hide. The note was then placed on a desk in a little black bin labeled "New Orders". Adam was about to get his wish.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I do not own Crowley or Aziraphale or Adam or Dog. In fact, all of the characters and locations belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

**Chapter 2:**** In Which Hastur is Angry, the Anti-Christ is only Slightly Less Bored, and Slightly More Than Nothing Much Happens**

To say that Hastur was unhappy would have been akin to saying that your dog has four legs, that your fish swims in water, or that trees are plants. That is, the fact that Hastur was unhappy was a given*. No, when attempting to describe Hastur's present mood it wasn't so much the phrase "unhappy" that would have come to mind as "livid and insensible with a violent, tempestuous, and burning rage the likes of which made the sun seem as frozen and plain as the ice sheets of North Pole by comparison" and it was all thanks to one person … or should I say demon?

You see, while Hastur himself had received his unjust punishment for the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't,** Crowley hadn't. No, Crowley was prancing around top-side enjoying himself, living the high-life. It wasn't so much the fact that Hell had thus far ignored Crowley's involvement that bothered Hastur but the fact that no one was making that slimy, pathetic, impudent little serpent suffer.*** But all that was about to change. Hastur was going to make certain of that.

As it so happened, Hastur had been wondering how long it would be before Hell took any major action after the Armageddon fiasco when the orders appeared in the tray on his desk.**** The Anti-Christ was bored. It was time for Hell to make its move. Hastur smiled a grin that split his face in two, revealing a pair of disconcerting rows of very sharp, jagged teeth, a plan already beginning to form in his mind.

* * *

*Granted, there are some cases of dogs having less than four legs and I once knew a kid who poured a coke into his fish's tank.

**As had the rest of Hell's hapless denizens

***In Hell, they don't need a reason to punish you- it just comes with the territory. It is also worth noting that snakes, while maintaining a lovely, almost silky, texture, are not slimy. Slugs are slimy, snakes are not. Believe it.

****It is worth noting that Hell had rather enthusiastically embraced the idea of offices- namely teeny, tiny, dimly-lit cubicles, air-conditioning that's turned up too high, and an endless line of pointless memos and meetings.

* * *

At St. James Park, the ducks were politely accepting the bits of bread tossed to them by an unusual pair of men.* One of them wore a tartan sweater vest over a white dress shirt and khaki dress slacks while the other wore a black jacket over a white dress shirt and black dress slacks. The second man also wore sunglasses even though they were standing in the shade. Looking at them, the casual observer might decide they looked the sort of people who would pass each other on the road while driving in opposite directions but not voluntarily spending time together. Surely they must come from two entirely different worlds. Had this theoretical observer realized what the two men actually were, they would have realized how accurate that assessment had been. Yet here they were and it was that little fact the ducks were always grateful for.

"So are you sure Hell is going to something?" Aziraphale asked, dropping another handful of bread crumbs on the eager ducks below.

"That's what the word is." Crowley replied with an indifferent shrug.

"Do you think they'll do anything about the Apocalypse?"

"Nah. My side is still pretending nothing happened. But from what I hear- whatever it _is_ that they're going to do- it's going to be _big_."

"Listen dear, would you mind dropping me off at my shop?"

"Oh, sure, Angel. You don't want to get a drink first?"

"No, thank you, dear. I just have to… think this over." Aziraphale offered Crowley a tired little smile and the two of them turned to leave.**

In a small neighborhood in Lower Tadfield, a boy was throwing a stick for his dog a warm sunny day. Adam always enjoyed playing with Dog but the arrival of the small, some-what flea-ridden mutt hadn't quite been what he was hoping for. Little did Adam know, however, there were several proverbial clouds forming on that sunny horizon. ***

* * *

*Admittedly, this could be said of just about every pair of men that came to St. James Park to trade information feed the ducks.

**A/N Ah, the first dialogue of the fic and… I'm a bit nervous about it, The entire paragraph is a bit off but, living in the States, it's kind of hard for me to write convincing British dialogue. So _please_, if I mess something up don't be shy about pointing it out to me. I'll never learn otherwise.

***This line is utter cheese.

* * *

Author's Note: I actually did know a kid who poured a Coke into his fish's tank. He told me that he did it because he thought his fish looked thirsty.

Coincidentally, did you know that pouring a can of Coke into your fish tank will, in fact, kill your fish? He does.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't know about you, but I still don't own the rights to Good Omens.  
Those would belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.

**Chapter Three: Two Recaps and Two Conversations of Arguable Importance**

Now, if you will, allow a small recap of the events so far. They will be important in the near future. Promise. God's truth. Besides, it'll be just like one of those detective/crime drama shows.* Anyway…

Adam was bored and made a wish.

Hastur, a duke of Hell, received orders and had a plan.

Crowley and Aziraphale met at the park to feed ducks and catch up on news.

Three people left St. James Park.

Adam played with Dog but was still bored.

And now you'll return to the regularly scheduled fanfic.

As soon as Aziraphale reached his shop, he slipped inside, locked the door, and headed for the back room. It had been awhile since he had established direct contact with Heaven and Aziraphale would have been more than happy to wait for, say, a couple thousand years but he didn't really have a choice in the matter. If Hell was planning something big it only seemed right that Heaven knew about it.** So he pushed his desk out of the way, rolled up the carpet,*** and found the circle that was chalked onto the floorboards. Kneeling down, Aziraphale said the Words and was greeted, after a couple repeats, by a "bright blue shaft of light" that "shot down from the ceiling and filled the circle"****

"Yes, Aziraphale? What is it?" came a divine and utterly disinterested voice. It seemed echo slightly off the walls, holding in its rich folds a kind of serene power and authority that would have left any mortal trembling.

"Ah, yes. Well, it's me. Aziraphale. Umm… who is it I'm talking to? If you don't mind my asking?" Aziraphale was not entirely unaffected.

"We know who you are. Now what is it?"

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, "Well, you see, while I was keeping an eye on things down here. Ummm, it sort of looks like The Adversary might be planning something. And I was wondering if Heaven knew yet. I mean, I don't know what it would be but it would certainly need to be thwarted, you know dear and…"

"Aziraphale." The voice sighed impatiently, "If Hell was planning something, I'm certain we would have heard about it before now."

"But…"

"Your concerns will be taken into consideration."

"I really must insist on the importance of this matter especially if…"

"Listen, Aziraphale. If you really want to talk about something important, then why don't you tell me where your flaming sword went?"

"You know, you sound busy up there. Why don't I leave you to your heavenly duties?"

"Good call." The light flickered out, leaving Aziraphale alone in his shop.

"You know, dear." The angel remarked to himself as stared blankly at his displaced desk and the veritable flood of papers that surrounded it, "I think I will have a drink now."

* * *

*A/N To be honest, I don't think I've ever seen a crime drama do this but it's the sort of thing I imagine crime dramas doing.

**After all, you couldn't really rely on _humans_ to do anything about.

***Doing so, Aziraphale realized it really was time he did something about all the papers he kept stacked on top of it. Especially when half of them came toppling down as soon as he began shifting the desk. It wouldn't hurt to vacuum either.

****Good Omens, page 241, US Harper Torch Edition. The one with Crowley on the front cover.

* * *

The voice came through about four, maybe five, blocks down from Aziraphale's bookshop. "Crowley." Freddie Mercury told him, "It's been awhile. Come down to the graveyard."

Speeding along at a good ninety, Crowley couldn't help but stare with a certain amount of blank horror at the source of the sound. It had been awhile since Hell had deemed to establish direct contact with him, and Crowley wouldn't have minded if it decided to wait for, say, a couple thousand years but he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

"Crowley." Freddie Mercury stopped mid-song again to warn him, "Either you can come to me or I can come to you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Crowley grumbled. He drove the rest of the way in silence.

A Second Recap:

Adam was bored and made a wish.

Hastur, a duke of Hell, received orders and had a plan.

Crowley and Aziraphale met at the park to feed ducks and catch up on news.

Three people left St. James Park.

Adam played with Dog but was still bored.

Aziraphale spoke to Heaven briefly and was given a Cold Shoulder

Two of Hell's representatives arrived "top-side" on devious business

Crowley was contacted by Hell

Adam Young was at home eating dinner around the time Crowley arrived at the graveyard.

Nastur, A Likewise Fallen Angel and Duke of Hell greeted Crowley.

Except for Crowley's presence, Nastur was alone.

"Good evening, Crowley." Nastur grinned, a set of jagged teeth appearing between thin, almost purple, lips, "Mind telling me what you've been up to lately?"

* * *

Author's Note: Look at me, posting two chapters in the same night. Reviews might help this to continue happening in the future. -not so subtle hinting- I would especially like feedback on what you thought of the "recap" bits. I thought they worked out nicely, myself, but I've been wrong about these things in the past.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: And here I am, back with chapter 4. Now contains 90% fewer footnotes. Sorry for the delay folks.  
Coincidentally, I still don't own the rights to Good Omens (not even one of the books in Aziraphale's lovely shop). Good Omens (c) Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet

**Chapter Four: In Which Some More Foreshadowing Takes Place and Crowley Has a Conversation**

Aziraphale was sitting in the backroom of his bookshop when he heard the faint "tinkle" of the bell at the front door. Setting down his glass, Aziraphale went out to see who it was. Had Crowley come back? Peeking out into the main store area, the angel found that this was not the case. A customer? This late at night?

"Hello." Aziraphale walked out to greet the customer, giving the man a congenial, if confused, smile, "I'm afraid I'm closed at the moment but you can always come back tomorrow…"

The customer was a tall man, wearing battered black raincoat that flapped around his knees over a white dress shirt and black slacks. He had sharp brown-grey eyes, a slightly crooked nose, thin mouth, and dark brown –almost black- curly hair. He shouldn't have stood out in a crowd but as Aziraphale stood there talking to him, he began to feel… nervous? As if something were watching him? Something dark and unimaginably dangerous? _"No, that's ridiculous,"_ Aziraphale mentally chided himself. The man merely smiled, "Sorry to bother you then, I guess I didn't realize the shop was closed. I'll try to make it back later then. Thanks, anyway."

"Oh no, it's no trouble really." Aziraphale reassured the man, leading him out of the shop, "Feel free to come back any time- well, anytime the shop is open, that is."

The man was stepping out into the evening air, smiling and nodding and saying goodbye and the odd, niggling little feeling left with him.

Inside the shop, Aziraphale sighed and wandered back to his back room to pour himself another drink.

Outside the shop, the man stopped for a moment and stood, studying the shop and smiling to himself. But this was a different smile from the one he had given the angel. A more calculating, cruel smile. The kind of that might be described as being slightly… demonic?

* * *

A fell wind swept through the graveyard, snatching at Crowley's jacket and rattling the branches of the trees that grew beside the graveyard gate. Crowley froze. "Well, Crowley," Nastur asked, a disinterested smile pasted onto his face, "what have you been up to lately? You know, since you dissolved Ligur with holy water."

"Oh you know, this and that." Crowley shrugged, answering in a forced nonchalance, "I switched some magazine subscriptions, made parking meters run out before they were supposed. Nothing big. What have you been up to Nastur? You seem particularly pleased with yourself."

A grin split Nastur's face, making his lips seem even thinner than before. It was a genuine expression, if not anymore comforting than the last. "Yes. You could say that." Nastur agreed, asking, "Now Crowley, tell me, have you heard anything of Hell's latest plans?"

Crowley's eyebrow arched a little, a sneaking suspicion lurking in the demon's mind. What role did Nastur have to play in all this? Ever since Ligur's little incident, Nastur had taken his place at Hastur's side, following the higher-ranking duke around almost like some sort of demonic, back-stabbing puppy and Hastur was last entity Crowley wanted to be seeing. "I've only heard that something was being planned. I don't know what though. Why?"

The grin broadened, "Hastur has been put in charge and he has personally chosen me as his second in command for this job."

"Oh. Good for you. So, what is it?" Crowley stared blandly back at the grinning demon, "You didn't call me over here to brag, did you."

The grin faded a little, "No. I came to acquisition your assistance on a certain point. You see, there was a certain angel involved in the umm… apocalyptic delay. He ruined our plans, Crowley. We would have won the Final Battle, I am sure!" A sheer, malicious hatred flared up behind his eyes*.

"And?" Crowley asked, not pointing out his own involvement. It was becoming harder keep his calm. Where was Nastur going with this?

"And?" Nastur replied, "We will no longer rely on a human, a mere boy, to bring the battle we have been waiting for- We will strike out at the angels and start it ourselves! And we will begin with that … Principality who stood in our way." Nastur ground his teeth together. "So Crowley, you will help us find the angel. We believe he may be living in this area of England so surely you must have noticed something."

Silence from Crowley. A very nervous silence.

"Don't think your own role has been forgotten." Nastur added by way of casual threat.

Crowley sighed, "Look. I've been kind of busy lately but if I notice an angel wandering around shouting "I stopped the apocalypse!" I'll be sure to get in touch with you." Although Nastur gave no response, Crowley immediately regretted mouthing off to a superior demon like that.

A cellphone ring disturbed the tense silence and Nastur pulled a sleek silver phone out of his pants pocket, flipped it open, and held it to his ear.** Nastur began to laugh.

"Well?" Crowley asked, a chill of premonition racing up his spice.

* * *

*Admittedly, this isn't really a rare occurrence with demons

**This is the widely preferred method to answer a phone, after all.

* * *

The bell hanging above the door of a little used bookshop in Soho jangled, summoning the store's polite, if aggravated, owner out of his back room. He was certain he had locked the door this time. He saw a person standing in the shop. Just one. It was the same man from before, slipping a sleek silver phone into a pants pocket. "I'm sorry but I've already told you I'm closed for the evening." The flustered shopkeeper reminded him, "Please leave." The same nervous feeling had returned as well. Something terrible was about to happen. The man smiled.

"I'm afraid I'm not here to shop, angel."

Back in the graveyard, Nastur's grin had returned in full force. "I'm sure you'll be glad to know, Crowley," The words slipped out from between his teeth like oil dripping from an engine, "that we've already found him."

* * *

A/N: Once again, I would really appreciate if you took the time to write a review (even a little one).

On an unrelated note of interest, I found a neat little Question and Answer type deal for Aziraphale and Crowley- it can be found here:

.me/DemonCrowley and here: .me/AngelAziraphale

If you have time, go by and ask them a few questions, 'kay? :)


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